


so go ahead and jump

by outranks



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Mild Fluff, Mild breeding kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 12:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outranks/pseuds/outranks
Summary: All Rook wanted was a normal job in a quiet, boring part of Montana, and instead she’s gone and caught feelings for a guy who co-runs a fucking cult.





	so go ahead and jump

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Too_Many_Seeds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Many_Seeds/gifts).



> this was a lot of fun to write! thank you for the prompt!! ♥♥
> 
> (quality assurance by [CrownBeed](http://crownbeed.tumblr.com/))

There aren’t a lot of places in Hope County where Rook can have a moment of peace. Where she can shower and eat and wash her damn clothes in water that isn’t filled with fish and Bliss and too often at least one dead person. In fact, there are so few places that more often than not she bites the bullet and sneaks into John’s house, against all of her better judgment because she knows how it will end. 

The same way it always ends. With great sex and Rook confused about where she belongs or where she really wants to be. 

But John has more money than he knows what to do with. Which adds up to a ridiculously large, _working_ shower, with obscenely perfect water pressure, along with more imported shampoos, conditioners, and body washes than Rook has seen in her entire life.

She can’t even read half of the bottles to know exactly what she’s supposed to do with them. 

Even if John weren’t her frequent bed partner, she’s pretty sure she’d still find herself sneaking into his house. Just for the shower alone. 

Once Rook is squeaky clean, without a trace of blood, questionable biological matter, or Bliss on her person, she digs through John’s clothes until she finds a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring that can be pulled tight enough to not fall down when she walks. It’s really the little things in life that bring her the most joy these days. 

The shirt is more easily obtained, though how he doesn’t appear to own a single t-shirt is both confusing and mildly alarming. It’s entirely possible John doesn’t know how to dress like a normal person and that’s just something Rook is going to have to live with.

She sighs, shoving her clothes into the washing machine, and heads to the kitchen where she _knows_ there’s always enough food to feed a dozen people twice over. Or her, _once,_ considering how famished she is. There aren’t enough meats, cheeses, breads, and little sliced tomatoes in the entire county for how much sandwich she wants to devour. 

The kitchen is dark, with very little light filtering through the windows, and there are still some of the faithful roaming around that she doesn’t want to alert. So she’s forced to prepare her meal, and then eat it, in the relative dark. It’s not so bad that she’s working blind, but she jams her toe into a chair leg twice, and drops a knife on the floor that she almost immediately gives up searching for. If John doesn’t want his utensils on the ground, then he can deal with that when he gets back.

Of course, Rook then hits her knee on the back of the chair when she pulls it out from the table, like some kind of immediate retribution for not cleaning up after herself. But she chooses to blame the layout of John’s house and the placement of his furniture, which is entirely aesthetic, without consideration for anyone actually living there. It’s like he wants her to walk away with bruises every time she visits.

He probably does.

She takes a bite of her sandwich and presses her fingers to the larger finger-shaped bruises on her hip. Too big to match her hands, and too dark to see anyway, but she can still feel the sting from them. 

The front door opens and slams closed, followed by the stomp of feet through the living room and John’s grumbled complains and bitten-off swears. 

“John?” Rook calls in the direction of John’s barely tempered wrath.

There’s a sound like a _yelp,_ and then light floods the kitchen. 

Rook hisses, covering her eyes, and trying to rapidly adjust her sight. “ _Ow,_ ” she says as pointedly as she can, but it maybe misses the mark when she still can’t see anything and has to squint at where she thinks John is standing.

“What are you— you have got to stop sneaking around here like that!”

Rook’s grabs for her sandwich, eyes finally able to see again, and watches as John clutches at his chest and tries to control his breathing. “Didn’t sneak,” she says, chewing slowly. “Walked in the front door. Your guards suck.”

“They’re the best I _have_ when you won’t stop killing the good ones.”

She shrugs and swallow her food, taking a sip of her orange juice that is apparently _freshly squeezed._ “What the hell...” she whispers, unsure if she should be impressed or annoyed that John lives like this. She glances up at him, intending to ask about where he gets any of his food, but notices for the first time the state that he’s in. “You um, you got a little blood on your, uh—” she points at a spot in her own face, then spreads her fingers wide to indicate her head, then her left side, then just kind of gestures at her entire body— “everything.”

“Yes, I’m _aware,_ ” John hisses. 

“Something happen?”

“Some new… converts—”

“Hostages.”

“ _Converts,_ ” John says. “The _converts_ got a little out of hand.”

Rook considers that for a moment. “Do they still _have_ hands?”

“Most of them.”

“Most of the hands, or—”

“I am going to take a shower,” John says, with a deep, weary sigh that practically resonates through Rook’s bones.

“Oh, the water pressure is great here.”

“I _know,_ it’s my house.”

Rook shrugs again, waving John off so she can finish her lunch in peace. It’s really not often that she gets to eat food that not only _looks,_ but _tastes_ recognizable. The amount of mystery meat-like products she’s eaten in the last few months is upsetting whenever she thinks about it too hard. And the roadkill burger she’d had a week earlier was still not sitting great in her stomach. It would be just her luck to gain some parasites or a new strain of bacteria that’ll make her patient zero in a fucking plague.

After she hears John’s footsteps on the stairs, and then on the floor above her, she goes back to her meal, considering the possibilities for the rest of the evening. She had been sure John wouldn’t be back until late that night, and now her plans have changed. Hopefully for the better, though Rook is going to wait until she’s reasonably sure John no longer looks like an extra in a horror film before she acts on anything. 

Before she goes upstairs to join him.

Rook groans, setting her sandwich down and pushing the plate away while she leans back in her chair and stares up at the ceiling. There are so many reasons for her to just steal the food John has and leave, but the more she’s in his company, in his _home,_ the farther she gets from believing those reasons. She groans again, louder and with more emphasis on how difficult her life has become. All she wanted was a normal job in a quiet, boring part of Montana, and instead she’s gone and caught feelings for a guy who co-runs a fucking cult. 

Well, it could be worse. Somehow. And maybe the world really will end, so she won’t have to deal with the consequences of her poor judgment. Seven years in a bunker with John might even be fun.

With that thought spinning around in her head, she’s not really hungry anymore. Which is more than a little annoying, though not enough that she actually wants to do anything about it. And it doesn’t take long to clean the small mess she made in the dark and go upstairs to John, where more often than not these days, she’d rather be. 

The shower is still running and nearly hidden under the sound of the spray Rook can hear a continued muttering, followed by a loud _thunk,_ and something that she’s pretty sure counts as blasphemy. She bites her lips to keep from smiling as she strips off her borrowed clothes, because that is _her_ violent mess of a human in there and she can admit that her feelings for him might be stronger than she thought. 

The bathroom is thick with steam and John is standing under the hot spray, rubbing at his elbow, when Rook slips into the shower behind him. 

“How’d you get hurt in _here?_ ” she asks, grabbing for the washcloth and the candy-sweet smelling bodywash. 

“I—” John touches the back of her hand as she starts to run work the soap into a lather over his chest— “I already did that.”

Rook hums, undeterred, pressing herself flush to John’s back just because she can. “You gonna tell me?”

John relaxes in her arms, no longer trying to stop her. “We’re going to make another video, to… inspire our people. Show them what they’re fighting for and how Joseph will lead all of us through the gates of Eden and I— I have a speech to memorize, and—”

“You hit your elbow on the wall practicing it,” Rook says and _doesn’t laugh._

“It’s going to be _perfect,_ you’ll see.”

Rook drops the washcloth to the ground, pulling John tight against herself, letting the water wash over them. “Yeah,” she says. There are outposts, silos, shrines, and whatever Jacob has going on in the North, still in need of her particular brand of destruction, but all she wants is a life outside of the chaos. How much more does she have to do before the Resistance can take care of themselves? If she left _now,_ would they survive without her?

“You’ve gone quiet.”

“Yeah, I…” Rook takes a deep breath, holding it for a second, and lets it out slowly. Never in her life did she expect to be in this situation; wanting to choose the _enemy_ over every saner option. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

John turns, cradling her jaw in his hands, and tilting her head up to face him. “Anything I can do to help?” he asks, like his kind of help isn’t exactly the problem. 

They’re close enough that Rook can feel John getting hard, and the way her own body responds to him, but she makes a show of thinking about it anyway. She bites her lower lip, glances off to the side, and pinches her brows together in a confused frown. “I just don’t _know,_ ” she says. “What could you possibly do?” She digs her fingers into the muscle of John’s back, scratching her nails over his skin. “I just can’t think of _anything._ ”

“You’re very funny,” John says, voice flatly unnamused as he shuts the water off and all but drags her into the bedroom. 

Rook feels giddy, _elated,_ and she laughs when John picks her up and drops her onto the bed. “Oh, you mean _sex,_ ” she says, drawing him into a kiss when he crawls on the bed over her. 

John’s hand moves down her body, teasing her by tracing circles around her clit. “You’re a lot of trouble,” he says. 

“Thank you.”

That gets a smile out of him, something soft and almost at odds with the man she knows he is. He kisses her again, sliding his fingers inside her where she’s already wet and aching with a need to be touched and filled. They’ve done this enough times that it shouldn’t still feel like a damn revelation when he touches her, but it always does. Everything about him feels _right,_ like they’re supposed to fit together. All of their rough edges a compliment to the other. 

“Fuck,” John breathes, playing with her clit and sending sparks of warm pleasure into her belly. “You’re so wet.”

Rook grinds down, hips rocking to chase that hard pressure inside her; muscle twitching and breath catching in quiet huffs in her throat. “Daddy, please,” she whispers, the words passing her lips before she can stop them. 

John _freezes,_ going perfectly still, and for a moment she thinks she’s ruined this, ruined _everything_. But he sucks in a shuddering breath, eyes going wide, and pushes his fingers _in._ “Again,” he says, rubbing his thumb over her clit just a little too light to be what she needs and when she tried to rock down against him, he pulls his hand away entirely. “Say it.”

“ _Daddy._ ”

“Good girl,” John says, tracing his palm along her jaw, and pressing his fingers back in. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she whines, “yes, Daddy.” She clenches around his fingers, trying to pull him in deeper, trying to take what she needs, but it’s not _enough._ The stretch and the gentle touch only making her wetter and needier for him to bury himself inside of her. 

John slides his fingers out again, leaving her _bereft_ , unable to keep the softly desperate sound from getting out. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he says, pressing one of her legs up, exposing her in a way that makes the deepest parts of her ache to be touched and filled, and pushing the other one wide, so he can fit perfectly between her thighs. “Tell me how you want it.”

Rook can feel him positioned at her entrance, can feel the heat of him, but he’s not pushing in and filling her like she wants. “Daddy, I—” she tugs at the sheets, balling them up in her hands, no longer sure what she’s supposed to do. “Fuck me, please, _please_.”

“You have to _tell me._ ”

“I don’t—” Her mind scrambles to understand what he’s asking, until he rocks forward, just a little and it clicks. “ _Yes,_ ” she moans, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside her, with nothing between them. “Yes, Daddy, fill me up, just like this, please.” It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve forgone protection, but it’s the first time they’ve had the option _right there_ and have chosen not to use it. Even in the heat of the moment, Rook knows what she’s doing. 

Mostly.

“ _Daddy,_ ” she sighs happily when he presses in, stretching her around the length of his thick cock. 

“Good girl.” 

John fucks her deep, a gentle grind of hard pressure against her inner walls that catches her breath with each roll of his hips. She has never wanted anyone like this and no one has ever made her feel this reckless and loved and _safe_ either. And she doesn’t know how to tell him at all. She only knows, believes, hopes, that he feels it too. 

She grabs for him, needing to touch, needing _him_ to touch _her._ “Daddy…” Rook can’t seem to collect the fragmented pieces of her mind and all she has is want and need and _John_. Like they’ve become something new and she hasn’t quite figured it out yet. “ _Daddy._ ”

John braces himself over her, teeth a sharp scrape on her throat. “Touch yourself,” he orders, snapping his hips with the new angle, feeling somehow impossibly deeper. “Show your Daddy how good you can be.” 

Rook presses one hand to the meat of John’s side, digging her fingers in like an anchor point, and runs her other hand down her chest. She touches her entrance, where John is thick and wet inside her, just to feel him there, before she brushes her clit, sending shivers up her spine. It’s not as good as John’s mouth, his _tongue_ , or even his skilled fingers that have known exactly how to play her body since the very first time they were together, but it’s what she needs.

And she can show John just how good she can be. 

She rubs at herself, hand spasming against John’s waist with every spark of pleasure. She’s so close and she feels _shattered_ at the slow grind of John’s cock and her own fingers. The way he moves like every push is calculated to drive her right to the edge without letting her fall over. He’s become a madness coursing through her veins, making her want _more._

“There you go,” John says, palming her breast and swiping his thumb back and forth over her nipple. “My good girl.”

That’s enough to send Rook crashing over the edge. Her spine pulls taught, muscles tensing, and her thighs shake as the waves of her orgasm wash over her. She tries to speak, but her breath hitches, mouth falling open, and a sound like a sob escapes her instead. It’s all too much and it’s _perfect_ and Rook doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to live without this. Without _John_. 

“Daddy,” she murmurs, coming back down, still shaking in the aftershocks of her release, where she feels raw and exposed and so very safe with him. 

John kisses her, leaning his weight on his forearm beside her head, changing his pace to chase his own need. Every push is harder and faster, taking what he can from her body. “Tell me,” he says, voice a rough grate of desperation. “Tell me again— what you want.”

“Come inside me,” Rook says. “Daddy, _please._ ”

John fucks her with harsh thrusts that rock through her core, hips snapping against her ass. The only sound in the room is his breathing and the wet, obscene sounds of his cock driving into her again and again. The rhythm is hard and even until it _isn’t_. John’s hips stutter faster, almost frantic, pushing in deep as he goes still, spilling his release inside of her where she can feel every warm pulse of him filling her like she wanted. Like a promise. 

Rook rocks down, easing him through his orgasm. “Daddy,” she whispers, running her fingers through his hair and down his spine. “I’ve got you.”

John huffs a soft laugh, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment. “I’m supposed to have _you,_ ” he says.

“Maybe.” Rook doesn’t really know what the rules are, and she knows they’ll just end up making their own anyway. “It can be both.”

He pulls out carefully, and Rook feels herself begin to leak onto the bed, too full of John’s release to keep it all inside. But before she can do anything about it, like grab for something to clean up with, John is pushing his fingers back into her where she’s a little sore and definitely still loose. There’s no intent behind his actions, as far as she can tell, only an interest in her wet and messy entrance and the mix of the two of them.

“You’ll stay,” he says, wiping his fingers off on the sheets and gathering her up in his arms. “Join my family and stay with me.”

Rook curls against him, tucking her face to his neck, content to be held for a while. “I was already planning on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr](https://outranks.tumblr.com/) ♪v('∇'*)⌒☆


End file.
